Red Line Ruin (Los Angeles Firebirds Hockey Book 1) by Mariah Wolfe

Author:Mariah Wolfe [Wolfe, Mariah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-05-23T00:00:00+00:00

38

WESTON

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

It’s Hunter’s voice I notice first, followed by his huge smirk as the doors part right over his Cheshire cat face.

Smiling tightly, Renee brushes past him with a mumbled hello, then slips into Sutton’s apartment and closes the door behind her.

“Don’t be an asshole,” I grumble at him as I stalk out into the hallway.

“Oh, buddy, that’s her pet name for you.” He smiles and leans in, making a big show of taking a sniff of the inside of the elevator car. “Uh-oh. Do I smell pheromones in here? Is that the distinct odor of some hot and heavy sexual activ⁠—”

“Don’t make me take away your keycard access.”

“So you banged her?” He abandons the elevator and follows me into my place. “Was it good? I bet it was good.”

“With God as my witness, I’m going to kick your ass ten ways to Sunday if you don’t shut the fuck up.”

Best friend or not, I don’t like him talking about her like that.

I drop my jacket on the couch and beeline for the kitchen, where there had better be at least one beer waiting in my fridge. I open the door and sigh. “You drank all the beer, Hunter?”

“You weren’t here. And she wasn’t here. I had to amuse myself.” He shrugs. “So yes, I watched your porn and drank your beer. I ate your pretzels, too. I wasn’t even hungry; that part was just out of spite.”

“You’re like a sad puppy pissing on the rug to get attention. There wasn’t some blonde coed in the city for casting couch auditions you could pick up?”

He rolls his eyes. “Obviously, that was my first stop. Her name was… Kallie or Kayla or… I don’t know. Anyway, she helped with the beer. Not so much with the pretzels.”

I follow his line of sight to see a lacy pink bra draped over the centerpiece on my coffee table. Then I sigh again.

I let the fridge door swing closed and go drop down heavily on the couch. It’s been a long-ass day. The game, Mom, Molly, the elevator fiasco, now this. Too much for any mortal man to bear.

Hunter sits in the armchair. “Stop ducking the question: did you or did you not bang her?”

“No, wiseass, I didn’t bang her.’” I shake my head trying not to remember her in the hotel room, touching herself while she fucked the vibrator. “We’ve reached a truce.”

“A hands-off truce? Sounds miserable.”

It so very much is. Obviously, I don’t tell him that.

“Some of us can be friends with a woman without needing to fuck her.” I maintain the bland, straight face for a couple seconds, long enough he shakes his head.

“I call bullshit.”

Of course it’s bullshit. Again, though, that’s need-to-know information—and Hunter doesn’t need to know.

“Nope. I’m not touching her. Haven’t since that day on the roof.”

“The one where you felt her up in the pool then ran like a scared little schoolgirl with a crush?” He’s courteous enough to demonstrate what that might look like, with windmilling arms and flailing legs.

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